The Diner That Lies Between Life and Death
by Nerds United
Summary: What if socalled purgatory was a retro 50's diner? What would Jack think of it? This is my strange idea of that place between life and death. A retro 50's diner. Last chapter is finally up! The author begs your forgiveness! Apology & ending inside! Sorry!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: this is what i've decided to call a trailer, just to see if anyone is interested. if they are not, it will be discarded and added to the millions of terrible ideas i've gotten. i would greatly appreciate any reviews, negative and positive are both fine. :)**

Jack flew in with sword in hand, attacking the beast while it consumed him, its sharp teeth sinking into his flesh. Jack was being overcome by darkness, just as we all had been, swallowed by it just as he had been swallowed by the kraken, and though he continued to thrash, his attacks grew weaker by the second, until finally they stopped altogether and he was swept up in the heavy cloak of what he probably thought to be death.

He was close, but had missed the mark a little.

"Where the Hell am I?" was the first thing out of his mouth when he landed on the cold hard floor. The floor shone, just as always, and its design was a black and white checkered pattern, extending endlessly in all directions.

He was in what appeared to be a retro 50's diner. He didn't know that of course, but I did. I worked there after all.

"Ah, Jack Sparrow," I said, walking over to him. "We have been waiting for you for quite some time now."

It was times like these when I wished our outfits weren't so jarringly, blaringly white. They consisted of a knee-length skirt (white), a polo shirt (also white), and a neat little apron (also also white). I extended my neatly manicured hand towards him, taking a glance at the condition of my nails to make certain yet again that they would meet the diner's standards. Spotless, as usual.

"This is not Hell; not quite there yet; and for your information, that profanity you used just a second ago will count against you." He looked suspicious, and I couldn't really blame him. Not many people envision the place between life and death as a retro 50's diner. I smiled wryly, shrugging.

"Where am I?" he asked again, looking annoyed.

I smiled broadly and gestured at our surroundings. "Did you not realize? This is the place between life and death. I believe you Catholics call it purgatory."

He raised his eyebrows at me. "Surely I'm not the only Catholic here."

"Not the _only_ Catholic, this is true, but you are one of the _few_ Catholics present at this moment in time," I rebutted, smiling.

Now that he was over the initial shock (or so I surmised), he began to look around with what looked like an insatiable curiosity, poking at things and squinting up at the lights. _This one's gonna be trouble..._ I thought to myself.

"Mr. Sparrow. May I ask you to _not_ touch?" I asked dryly.

"You may ask, but that does not mean I will oblige," he replied urbanely.

_Curse it; he's good,_ I thought, narrowing my eyes. "Let me rephrase that, Mr. Sparrow. You may not touch anything."

He eyes sparkled. "But that's impossible!" he exclaimed in mock indignation. "I _have_ to touch the floor." He resumed his exploration, but whirled around to face me again. "And that's _Captain_ Sparrow."

I put my hands on my hips. "Can you _please_ cooperate?" I asked. It had only been five minutes and I was already losing my patience with the infuriating man.

He didn't reply, instead asking, "Why is there all this strange stuff here?"

"Well, it's mostly items from what you would consider to be the future. However, there is no real 'time' here."

"Then why did you say that you'd been waiting for me for 'quite some time now'?" He was grinning, the wicked man.

"I used to be mortal once," I growled, scowling. I pushed him into one of the red plastic booths, and took the seat across from him. I dug out a rulebook from my messenger bag (you guessed it, it's white) and dropped it in front of him, feeling obscurely pleased with the loud **_THUNK_** sound it made. "You can start reading the guidelines, and please do _not_ _move from this booth._ I will be back later if you have any questions." And with that, I gladly walked away, rolling my eyes slightly, thinking, _I'm glad _that_ ordeal is over._

Oh, how wrong I was.

**A/N: im not sure whether to continue or not. i need help. please drop a review. and if you're anonymous, my utmost apologies (after all, it's not entirely my account, so it wasn't completely my choice.) really, im sorry.**


	2. Hello God

**A/N: i apologize for chapter shortness and strange ideas, but please read and review!**

_**POOF!**_

I slowly opened my eyes to the bright, jarring fluorescent lights of the main floor in the diner. "Wha?? Huh?" I blinked a couple of times and yawned. "What's going on?"

"I have a question."

My blurry vision finally slid into focus. In front of me was Jack Sparrow, looking exceedingly smug. I was instantly wary. "What is it?"

"Are you a celibate?" he asked me, and he obviously enjoyed my reaction, the impertinent man.

"What kind of a question is that!? _You have no reason to need to know that!_ Next time, make it a _good_ question, not… not—a mockery!" I shouted, losing my patience completely. I positively trembled with rage, feeling the blood rush quickly to my face as I clenched my fists.

Everyone in the diner turned and stared at me. "Sorry," I said hastily, putting my hands up like a criminal of some sort, and they turned away, but still had disapproving looks on their faces.

"You are going to lose me my job!" I hissed, quiet now, but still as vehement as ever.

He remained undaunted, leaning back in the booth nonchalantly. "How did you get the job anyway?" He looked at me as if he thought he knew something that I hadn't told him about myself. If that makes sense. _He thinks I_—_eew! Gross! _He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and I wrinkled my nose in distaste before adopting a look of utter indifference.

I raised my eyebrows, saying mildly, "The same way we all did. I turned my life record in to the boss, signed a contract, and now I'm here." I grimaced. "I doubt you'll be able to do the same. You're record is pret-ty terrible. Don't count on getting out of Hell."

"I'm not. I'm actually quite enjoying purgatory," he drawled, leaning back further and placing his feet on the table.

"Just wait 'til they start playing off tune 50's music," I muttered darkly, walking off to go find a cup of coffee. Lord knows I needed one. Once I had located myself a cup of coffee, I set about to drinking it, sighing, "Aahhh… caffeine," and breathing in the fragrant tendrils of steam that rose from the liquid's creamy brown surface. But in mid sip, there was another sudden **_POOF!!_**

"Ack!" I cried in surprise. Luckily, the coffee stayed in the cup, and my outfit remained just as white as ever, but I was still quite shaken. The folks in the diner turned to stare reproachfully at me again. I gave an uneasy smile. "Sorry."

Who was in front of me? Take a guess. That's right, Jack Sparrow. I forced myself to be mild and calm. "Yes?"

"How come I can poof you here, but you can't poof yourself here?" he asked, fiddling with a large, opulent, and disgustingly grimy ring.

"That's just the way it works. I can only poof myself somewhere in the most dire circumstances," I answered with a weary sigh. I took a sip of my coffee and sat down in the seat across from him.

He frowned. "Why are you sitting across from me? I thought you hated me."

I gave him my severest look. "I do not _hate_ anyone. Sometimes I have trouble _keeping my patience_ with people, but I never _hate_ anyone."

He nodded, saying mildly, "Ah, I see."

"Said the blind man," I added automatically. I blushed. "Sorry." I looked down at my hands. "That's just something I do."

He laughed a little bit. "No worries about that, love," he said.

I stiffened instantly. "What did you call me?"

He knew what I was talking about; that much was clear, but he gave me what I assumed to be his 'innocuous' look. "I didn't call you anything."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You know what I mean. Don't do it again," I warned.

"Do what, love?" He mocked me with his eyes, waiting for my explosion.

I refused to explode; that was what he expected. "Don't call me 'love'," I gritted out, grinding my teeth together and resisting the urge to growl.

"Oh, _that!_ Why didn't you say so?"

"I assumed that you had a living brain cell or two," I replied dryly. "I shall not make _that_ assumption again."

"A living cell?" he queried mildly.

"Indeed," I said shortly, using my coldest tone.

He paused for a moment before saying, "I've decided not to ask any awkward questions."

I gave him a tight smile. "Good choice." I took a sip of coffee. "Thank you God, for making coffee."

"So… have you ever _seen_ God?"

"Oh, yes. God's the one who does all the job interviews for this place," I replied firmly, trying to be as matter-of-fact as possible.

There was nothing flashy; God is not flashy, but God appeared. Sort of. More like God's presence joined us and we could hear God's voice. Please excuse the lack of pronouns—none of them fit for God. "You're talking about me," God said.

"Yep. People all over the world talk about you all the time. Aren't you used to it by now?" I teased.

"I am, but every once in a while I drop in to see what they're saying. And just to clear up the record, the Crusades were _not_ my idea. That was all the pope," God said.

"There are so many wars in your name… where do you suppose they got _that_ ridiculous idea from?" I asked.

Now Jack jumped into the conversation. "They didn't get the idea from anywhere. They decided that it was a good excuse to start a war, and did."

God paused for a moment. "Ah. I must go. Someone who _actually_ _needs_ my help is calling. Good day!"

And with that, God was gone. "So that's God. None of the normal pronouns fit God, do they?" Jack mused.

I just stared at him for a few minutes, blinking. "They don't fit," I said uneasily. "They don't." _Eew; we think the same thing! _I thought. I shook my head a little as if to clear it. "Well, you ought to finish reading the rulebook now."

For once, he didn't argue, and much to my relief, we soon lapsed into silence.


	3. Names

**A/N: i'm sooo sorry for the long wait!! i suddenly got busy! i barely managed to write this! please enjoy!**

It had been a long enough interval of silence that I figured I could get up and go scare up some more coffee, but the instant I got three steps away from the table, there was an annoying **_POOF! _**and I was back again. "I was just gonna get some coffee," I protested irritably, narrowing my eyes and scowling.

"You still didn't answer my first question," he said by way of explanation, putting on what I assumed to be his 'innocuous' look.

I was at my last straw—I _desperately_ _needed_ more coffee, and blast him, he was getting in the way. "As if I'd remember! And what was that?"

"Are you a celibate?"

"For heaven's sake!" I cried in exasperation, blurting, "Yes! But not because I _have_ to, only because there are people in the world like _you!_ Good day, Mr. Sparrow!" I turned sharply on the heel of my high-heeled shoes (white, again) and strode angrily to my room.

By 'my room,' I mean a largish curtained off booth that had been allocated to me and that held my few possessions. It wasn't exactly private, but it was something. I hurtled myself into the booth, angrily snapping the polka-dotted curtain shut behind me and squeezing my eyes shut. I pulled out my MP3 player and pressed play, unceremoniously jamming the earphones in.

It was another one of those tuneless songs, consisting of lots of shouting, a boring bass-line, some mismatched guitar chords, and violent noise. The drummer was whack-happy, the singer's vocal chords were probably about to snap like a rubber band, the guitarist was possibly on drugs, and the bassist was likely about to go into a coma from boredom.

In general it was a tone-deaf band. You know the type. It was perfect. For my mood anyway. I turned up the volume a tad. The haphazardly inserted earphones fell out, and I could still hear the music as clearly as if I was actually at one of the concerts. I sighed, turning the MP3 player off and putting it to the side. My arm was on the table, and was soon joined by my head.

I sat there just staring at the table with my head on my arm for a long while, completely oblivious to any goings on, but was startled out of my coma-like state by a loud, "Woah!" and a rude poke in the shoulder.

It was Jack, as I should have expected. I raised my head, looked at him for a few seconds, bared my teeth like some kind of animal, and then went back to staring at the table.

The clink of a glass on the table fell upon my ears. A mug was set next to my head, and smelled suspiciously of coffee. I ignored it, returning to the absolutely _riveting_ activity of watching the table. "What's your name?" he asked. The question seemed random to me, but his voice sounded so uncharacteristically gentle that the words seemed to barely make it past his lips as he stood beside my crumpled form. It took me by surprise, and startled me into answering truthfully.

I did not look up, keeping my eyes trained on the table, feeling dejected. "I don't have one anymore," I replied glumly, feeling cold. "It was one of the things I had to give up."

"You _had_ to give it up?" I could not tell what he thought of this, but his voice sounded almost sympathetic now.

I buried my face in my arms and my voice came out muffled when I spoke, but at that point I didn't care. "When I got this job. So now I don't remember my name." My closed eyes leaked tears onto my arm. "I think it was pretty though," I added wistfully, sitting up and slowly wiping the tears away from my cheeks. I sighed, trying once more to recall, racking my mind as I had done so many times before. "Something graceful."

Not having a name was one of the hardest things for me about doing what I did. I remembered the names of others, and each time I heard a new name, I would run a few other names in my head to see if any of them rang a bell as my own. They never did.

I tried once more. _Angela, Sarah, Eliza, Emily, Amelia, Samantha, Elizabeth, Taylor, Nicole, Anastasia, Stacy, Agnes, Kate... _None of them fit.

"What else did you have to give up?"

I finally looked up at him, feeling sorrow rise in my chest like a buoyant weight pushing constantly and persistently at my ribcage. "My _identity_ basically," I confessed quietly. "I don't really remember anything of my life. My nationality, my family, my friends, accomplishments—I don't remember any of it. My memories are of the afterlife, and the afterlife only." I squeezed my eyes shut and tried hard to dredge up a shard of a memory. But that thin veil still blocked my life from view, cold, harsh and forbidding.

His voice startled me from my trance-like reverie. "Anything?"

I wasn't sure how he knew what I was doing, but somehow he did. I let out my breath in a long slow hiss of disappointment. "Nothing," came my dull reply. My eyes snapped open and I glared at him suspiciously, my eyes narrowed as a sort of protection from his duplicity. "What's it to you?"

He took a step back, his hands up in the air in a way that positively screamed 'I didn't do it.' His tone was apologetic as he realized that I wasn't going to attack him and lowered his hands. "I'm just curious. I have to call you _something_."

I jumped in surprise and then frowned in what felt like a mix between consternation and hurt, my forehead puckering up in what I guessed was the naïve look of a little girl who has just been told by her parents that Santa Claus doesn't exist. "What for?" I asked, almost pouting as I added in my head, _No one else ever asked for my name. _

"People generally call other people by names," he replied easily, shrugging. "Surely you remember _that_ much."

"True," I consented slowly. My look became incredulous, skepticism written clearly in my demeanor. "What do you… want to call me?" I asked falteringly, feeling off balance.

He leaned forward far more than was comfortable and studied my features for a moment like an avid college student at his books, making me squirm from such close scrutiny. "I don't know," he finally replied, seeming truthful as he leaned back. I breathed in deep; he was starting to make me feel claustrophobic or Jack Sparrow-phobic or _something_.

"Oh well," I said. I turned my eye back to the coffee mug and sniffed at it experimentally, wrapping my hands around the chipped white porcelain. I breathed in the fragrant steam, smiling slightly in approval up at Jack. I stood, mug in hand, and walked over to the table we had previously occupied, beckoning him to follow. When we were once more firmly ensconced in the booth, I produced a clipboard and several forms.

My smile was sour. "Paperwork," I told him, sliding it in front of him.

He grimaced, but set to work, leaving me to my coffee and brooding thoughts.


	4. My First Burn and I'm Already Dead

**A/N: i'm finally back!! this update's gonna be good!!!!! but dont expect to have too much after this... whatever. enjoy! and please review!**

I had become accustomed to listening to the scratching of his old-fashioned quill across the way as I pondered my loss of a name, so when there was a slight _click_, and then a long period of silence, my eyes narrowed. I looked up, raising my eyebrows expectantly. "Yes?"

His expression was almost too intense for me to handle. My eyes instantly darted back to the table as I slouched and fiddled with the buttons on my annoyingly white polo shirt. I could feel his eyes on my head. "How long must I stay here?"

I looked up, chagrinned. "I don't know," I said frankly. "To be perfectly honest, I'd probably say a pretty long while."

It was hard to tell what he thought of this. "Alright. So can't I do this paperwork later?"

I laughed with a harsh acerbity that surprised even me, raising one incredulous eyebrow. "What else do you have to do?"

He smiled in a way that was oddly benign. "Oh… anything really. Count the floor tiles… Read the bible… I'm sure you have a copy of it somewhere."

Wordlessly, I pulled my slim pocket bible from my apron and slid it across the table to him. He laughed, and then continued. "I could drink coffee." My hands immediately went protectively to my cup. His smile was far off, almost nostalgic, as if he was thinking of something sweet that lay vaguely in his memory. "We could dance…"

First my eyes narrowed in something close to consternation, and then my eyebrows went up quizzically. "To what music?" I scoffed, but didn't feel as sure of myself as I should have.

He had a strange look on his face. "Music that only we can hear…" He stood and took my limp hand, tugging at it with the insistence of a child. I think the man enjoyed discomfiting me.

I very quickly snatched my hand back from him and cradled it to myself, shrinking back. _What am I afraid of? _I asked myself, and the rational part of my mind fell silent for once, unable to produce an answer. "I-I—d-don't—umm—" I stuttered, trailing off pathetically and looking up at him in equal parts confusion and fear. I was terrified of something, but I wasn't sure what.

"It's jus' dancing," he told me softly, reclaiming my hand and pulling, even more persistent this time. "No worries in _that_." He pulled me up to standing position and feeling awkward, I followed his lead.

He pulled me in dizzyingly close to his lean frame and began to sway, humming tunelessly and spinning me, leaving me disoriented and rather confused. Presumably, the life that I didn't remember had not included much dancing.

My head was reeling and it had only been a few seconds. I couldn't handle it. I stepped back, clasping my hands behind my back and then rethinking that decision and crossing my arms defensively over my front.

I slowly shook my head, feeling pained. I didn't want kindness derived from sympathy. I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes briefly and when they reopened again, I had regained control. "Surely there's something else you can do for entertainment."

He smiled rather bleakly. "None of those things are half as much fun."

"Maybe that's not the point," I rebutted. _Why do I feel like I'm pleading with him?_ I wondered, feeling conflicted.

Understanding flickered briefly behind his eyes and he made his way back to the table, seating himself at the papers and gesturing that I take a seat across from him once more. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but I sent him a look of intense warning that should have shut him up, but instead, made him smirk. I rolled my eyes and ignored his antics, retaking my place at the table with relief.

_This is how it's supposed to be. Me being mad at him, and him being the annoying scoundrel that he is. _My coffee was now tepid, but to keep up appearances, I took a sip. The soothing scratch of the quill resumed and I allowed my mind to wander freely. My eyes drifted around the diner, sliding past the linoleum tiles and the garish booths. My vision slid in and out of focus until everything overlapped like a patterned but translucent fabric. The sharp lines and hard edges softened as right angles rounded, and the glare of the fluorescent lights diminished as a warmer light, fueled by my imagination, flooded my vision. _I could make this place beautiful, _I realized, but as soon as the thought popped into my consciousness, I grimaced unthinkingly, and the new image of the diner that I had created shattered like a thin sheet of glass. _But purgatory isn't supposed to be beautiful._

Sparrow's amused voice interrupted my reverie. "What are you making faces about?"

I was instantly back on the defense, feeling as if I had let my guard down. He was smirking, the smug git. _It's not like my expression has anything to do with you! _I thought in his direction (if that's possible.) "I don't know," I answered mulishly, suddenly feeling sulky. I was moping, and I knew it, but I did nothing to stop it. I pouted, glaring slightly. "Why do _you_ care?"

He did not answer the question, removing his hat from his head and looking at me speculatively, ponderingly trying to puzzle me out. He thoughtfully fingered the braided ends of his goatee. "You always seem to think I have ulterior motives," he commented bemusedly, completely ignoring my question. _Cheeky punk,_ I thought to myself. "Why _is_ that?"

"Your past shows that generally, you _did_ have ulterior motives," I retorted snappishly, glaring.

He shrugged as if to say, 'You have me there.' He smiled widely, showing several glittering gold teeth and spreading his hands in a gesture of surrender.

My mouth dropped open in shock. "Damn it, you're enjoying this aren't you?" I said. I clapped my hands over my mouth and then snatched them back to my side as I realized that Sparrow had begun to laugh. I hadn't cursed, even in thought, for years! Just as Sparrow opened his mouth to resume our verbal skirmish, God's voice boomed nearby.

"To my office," God ordered. "Now."

I glared daggers at the pirate in the red booth and stood, walking briskly to see my boss in the office, my palms sweaty as my heart threatened to burst. The door's glass window had written in fading gold letters, 'The Powerful One.' The once resplendent gold letters were now peeling and old, but I knocked and entered without giving the condition of the office much thought.

I immediately began apologizing profusely, kneeling in front of the ominous oak desk that separated God from the workers. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do it, I just lost my sense of control," I said plaintively, wringing my hands and feeling like a bit of a ninny.

I could feel God's gaze searing my back as I stared at the puce colored carpet. God's anger was like a vehement, venomous hiss of sound, and the pressure of being in God's fuming presence and godhood was painful, threatening to fling my joints apart in any second. My bones rattled and the room heated like a fire, building temperature until it was almost unbearable. Briefly, through my pain, I wondered, _I hadn't thought that God used torture,_ but within moments all thoughts had been scorched from my brain. I realized after a moment that I was writhing on the floor, and if I heard correctly through my torment, someone was laughing at me. My spine felt as if it was twisting in my back, and I thought I heard it making alarming cracking sounds until suddenly the pressure was lifted and the room was cool again.

"Just make sure it doesn't happen again," God said coolly, leaving me as I trembled and collapsed, sprawled in a heap on the floor. My throat was hoarse from bottling strangled screams that had clawed at my vocal cords, and my breathing was shallow. A weak glance at my arm showed that there had actually been fire in the room, but the sufficient burn wasn't the worst I had ever seen, though it throbbed terribly with my pulse. Barely conscious, I whimpered and tried to move, before yelping in pain. I sniffled dolefully as tears welled up in my eyes.

I'm not sure how long I lay there curled in fetal position, crying as I slipped in and out of consciousness, but eventually, there was a great **_POOF! _**that made me land jarringly in my 'room,' bringing on a fresh leak of tears as a layer of skin on my burned arm peeled off. I looked up to see Jack staring down at me in horror. "What happened to _you_?" he asked, dark eyes wide.

I winced as I moved painstakingly to a sitting position, saying ruefully, "It's best not to get on God's nerves."

"You seem to enjoy saying cryptic things," he informed me dryly. "D'you mean to say that the loving, compassionate, all-forgiving Christian God did this to you?"

I nodded weakly, slowly stretching my back and hearing the bones click back into place as if that's how God had meant it to happen. I cradled my burned arm to my chest and shivered in the too sterile air of the diner. I looked up at him flatly, deadpanning, "Would you happen to know anything about treating burns?"

* * *

"How long has it been since you got the burn?"

"I don't know…" I groaned, "But it _feels_ like forever."

"Let me see it," he said, a familiar 'I'm being patient' look on his face and in his tone of voice.

I slowly moved it, so as not to accidentally rip more from the flapping fragments of skin that surrounded the raised welt of the burn. It had already begun to swell and blister, and spread across a large portion of my lower arm. He winced in sympathy, but took my arm and turned it over to examine the delicate skin on the opposite side. The stinging redness of a more minor burn flared like a fire there so that the whole burn seemed to wrap around my arm.

"We'll deal with the front first," he said wryly. He pulled a small vial from one of his various pocket-like attachments and uncorked it, adopting the lecturing look of a teacher. It surprised me that he could pull off the look of a teacher, what with the gold teeth and dreadlocks and whatnot. He held it up slightly. "This is lavender oil. For inflammations, the treatment of acne, the repellence of fleas, and most importantly—" He winked. "For skin burns," he finished, the timbre of his lilting voice blending pleasantly with the sounds of the diner. He took several drops of the clear liquid and spread it gently over my arm while I let my breath out in a long hiss of restrained pain. He put his fingers close to my face, and the floral smell drifted up to me. "That's what it smells like."

I just stared at him uncomprehendingly, letting my mind wander about as he slid out of focus. Soon, there was two of him. I squinted slightly at the two identical people in front of me until they merged again. The simple convergence of the two figures gave me an odd sense of satisfaction, paired with an oblique sense of contentment. I was deliriously happy—literally.

He seemed about to continue in his lesson, but then stopped and peered into my face. "Are you—" He put his hand to my forehead and then looked at me oddly, like I had just sprouted several reptilian heads. "You're feverish?" When I didn't answer, he checked once more. He looked slightly exasperated. "You're feverish," he answered flatly for himself.

I registered a minute later what he had said and fished around in my apron pocket for my Advil. I held the Junior Advil bottle up triumphantly, opening it and shaking three small pills out. Once they lay flat in my palm, I showed them to him proudly, saying with immense satisfaction, "Advil; also known as Ibuprofen. Used to reduce swelling, to ease pain, and to bring down a fever." With that, I grabbed a nearby water bottle and popped the pills. He raised his eyebrows (apparently they didn't have Advil in the seventeenth century or whenever/wherever he was from, or perhaps he just found my behavior odd) and continued to tend to the burn.

"My first burn," I commented sourly. "Seems odd that I didn't get it 'til I'd already died."

He smiled, but didn't look up. "Well, how didja handle it?"

"Badly. It was like a living Hell…" I stopped.

" 'Cept that technically you're dead… and this is purgatory," he finished.

I smiled ruefully with a cynical chuckle, and then sighed. "Sometimes I'm not so sure," I murmured, more to myself than to him.

He looked sharply up at me, his eyebrows shooting up. "About what? Do you mean to say—"

"Nothing," I interrupted hastily, adding fiercely, "I don't mean to say anything."

He went back to the tending of my arm and we lapsed into an uneasy silence for the duration of his cleaning the wound. Finally, he sat back and appeared to be done. I ventured a glance down at the arm, but looked away as I saw the extra layer of dead, loose skin flapping like a demented flag whenever I moved. I grimaced and very quickly stopped moving.

"Bandage that," he ordered. I reflected that he probably enjoyed being able to order me around. "And y' should drink some fluids too." He stopped, stood, and stretched languidly, making my spine hurt _(from what? Envy?)_. He felt my forehead again and smiled briefly in satisfaction. "Now, I've got some paperwork to do." As he swaggered away, he stopped and called back briefly with a hint of a smile in his voice, "And y' owe me a shillin' for that, just so's y' know."


	5. Puzzle

**A/N: sorry 'bout the lag. i've been working like crazy on my other long fic (which is done, i'm so depressed) and so this one has suffered. i might be able to work more on this one, but i cant make any promises. enjoy!**

For once in my life (or _after_life rather), I was tired. I was so utterly and completely exhausted that it seemed to gnaw at my bones and eat away at my person, trailing me like a juvenile stalker. Not even coffee could remedy my lassitude, and each time I moved, my back ached, my arm stung madly, and tears sprung to my eyes. I have always been a wimp when it comes to pain.

I hadn't been this tired since—well, since I was actually alive and mortal and thriving down on Earth, wherever it was. So I haphazardly bandaged my wound and for the first time in the afterlife, I slept, and had haunting dreams.

_I was in a large, deserted Asian foods store. There was no one behind the counter, and all of the signs appeared to be in Japanese. I was desperately hunting for someone, but I could not find her—nor could I remember who it was, exactly, that I was looking for. Another thought hit me as I suddenly remembered that there was another person for me to be looking for, one who could help me find... well, whoever it is I was trying to find. There was a great __**BOOM**__ and I flew forward, landing with a screech on the hard floor and covering my head, looking around frantically for some sign as to what the hell just exploded. There was another explosion and I ducked into one of the aisles and grabbed a gold statue of what appeared to be the crucifix. I waved it around crazily like a lunatic. "Here kitty!" I called, but I knew that I was not looking for a cat. "Here pussy-kitty!" _

_I dropped the golden cross, as it seemed to be doing me little good in finding the person I was looking for, and ran down the aisle, ducking into another. A cat wearing Jack's hat appeared in the new aisle and meowed with Jack's voice to me, "Things are seldom what they seem." I squinted at the cat and it turned into Jack himself, hat and all. _

"_Oh good," I said to Jack. I gave him a brief hug and looked around, instantly back on track for my primary mission—to find the nameless person who I couldn't remember whom it was. "That's one down, but we still have to find her," I told him, glad to know at last the identity of at least one of the people I had been searching for, and he nodded in agreement, though I still am not sure who 'her' was referring too. There was another __**BOOM**__ that shook several packages off of the long shelves that surrounded us._

_He turned around slowly and stopped short once he came full circle and saw me again. "There you are!" he cried, embracing me. "We've been looking for you!"_

And then I awoke to the ticking of a clock and the sound of a quill scritch-scratching away. I gave Jack a strange, pondering look, not sure what to think of my dream and sat up. "Wasn't I in my room when I fell asleep?" I asked him suspiciously, eyeing him dubiously.

"Yep," he replied with considerable cheer. "But you were sleeping on your arm, which I figured wasn't the greatest idea, considering its present—" He eyed my arm dubiously. "—and not very pleasant looking—state, so I relocated your lovely person to this booth here."

I raised my eyebrows. "Umm… thanks," I said awkwardly. "I think."

"Did you find whom you were lookin' for?" he asked me suddenly.

I responded without thinking. "No, _you_ did, but the person you found didn't make sense." I frowned as I realized the implications of his question. "Was I talking in my sleep?"

"More like mumbling with the occasional shout," he corrected with an impertinent grin. "The part about the cat was _particularly_ loud."

_Insolent prick... _I groused grumpily to myself. "Remind me to never fall asleep again," I muttered crossly, yawning and grabbing the nearest coffee.

"Will do, ma'am," he said, giving me a quick, pert—and mocking—salute. He gave my arm an appraising look and added, "You should probably change that bandage." He grimaced, wrinkling his nose in my direction. "Startin' to look rather unkempt-like." I grumbled slightly and started to peel the bandage away from the burn.

I hissed in a sharp intake of breath as the bandage stuck and pulled up already irritated skin. The skin around the burn was torn and oozed pus at the openings (which were many) and as I painstakingly removed the bandage, the open wound began to trickle blood. I grimaced and then winced at the thin layer of skin attached to the not quite free bandage. I tugged slightly. The cloth would not budge. It was stuck fast to my burn by coagulated gook and didn't seem to want to come off anytime soon. I made a little noise of frustration that fell somewhere between a strangled little scream and a grumble.

Sparrow was staring like I had just sprouted several heads. "What a malodorous, malfunctioning, maladroit, malicious, mussed and indeed any other descriptor that begins with 'mal,'—except for mussed, which of course, does not—bandage."

I raised an eyebrow and fought the urge to laugh. "I would agree with your assessment of the situation. By the way, nice alliteration."

"Thanks, but your rhyming skills outdid me just then."

I glared, but it was a good-natured sort of glaring, and he promptly changed my bandage for me with a simple ease that I envied. I stared at him, flabbergasted. "Of all the weird, rand—"

He placed one finger over my mouth to silence my ineffectual protests, shushing softly. "Just take help when you need it, for once, hmm?" He stood with an almost triumphant smile. "Now, since I've helped you so immensely with the removal and replacement of your unsavory bandage, I would greatly appreciate some reciprocation in the form of some type of victual."

I shook my head and tutted my discontent, feigning vast disappointment. "I should've known you weren't just being nice." I stood, raising my eyebrows at the man. "You shouldn't need to eat anyway. You're dead. The only reason I feel the need to drink coffee is because it helps me get things done quicker."

He shrugged, walking away slightly as if examining something and then swiveling about to face me again. "I'm bored. What can I say? You're just not very interesting."

I swatted at him, playful blows that he easily dodged. I sent him a laughing look of fake reproach that threatened to cave and collapse into giggles. "Fine. I'll fetch you something to eat," I consented, adding deviously, "But there's no guarantee that you'll like it." Visions of sea cucumber and gruel danced through my head.

And just like that, there was a sudden _**BOOM**_ that sent me flying directly into Sparrow, knocking him over so that we ended up in an ungraceful heap on the floor. I hastily rolled off of him, awkwardly sputtering profuse apologies and trying to ignore the shooting pain in my spine from the impact. Before I could embarrass myself further, there was another explosion, mercifully cutting off my maladroit speech and snapping my head back to thwack against a wall. I winced and my hand went immediately to the back of my head as I pouted and moaned plaintively, "Ow-ey, ow-ey, Ow-ey." I then realized how silly it must have looked, what with the pout and the childish voice teetering on the edge of a whine. I stood, trying to look more like an adult. "Well, I guess I'll be getting that food now," I announced, my face flushing hot with color.

"I think it best that I come with you wherever you happen to be going," he mocked gently with a teasing smile, "Just in case you fall again."

"I really don't think that's necessa—"

"Oh no, I insist. What if you were injured? I wouldn't want it on my conscience that you'd been hurt while off pinching food for little ole _me_." He stood, brushing himself off. "No. I'll be coming with you."

I didn't like his highhanded way of taking over the situation and ordering me around like I was a five-year-old incapable of taking care of myself. I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes in challenge, asking confrontationally, "What if I told you I was going to use the restroom?"

He grinned, spreading his hands wide. "Then I'd have no choice but to follow, my dear."

I glared. "Knave."

The grin widened. "Pirate," he reminded me.

"I should've seen that coming," I muttered to myself, disgruntled.

"Yes, you should have," he cheerily agreed, looping his arm through mine and steering me away.

There were a few moments of silence as he led me in obviously randomly chosen directions. "Do you have any idea where you're going?" I grouched irritably, impatient.

"No," he replied. At this point, it became obvious that he was humoring me, trying to tease me into a better frame of mind. This only proved to worsen my mood.

He still had a rather too firm grip on my arm, so I eased out of his hold and skipped out of his reach when his hand darted out predictably to recapture my arm. I gave him a look that spoke of a strong warning and then gestured wordlessly for him to follow me.

A great _**BOOM**_ rolled like a crack of thunder, sweeping my feet from under me as I stumbled, wincing in advance from the screech that was undoubtedly about to unleash itself and the angry red welt that would surely pop up on the side of my face that was heading towards the linoleum floor, then—

He grabbed my hands and flipped me back up to a standing position before anything higher than my legs could get tile-burn (if there is such a thing.) I snatched my hands back quickly and then realized what he'd done and mustered up what was left of my fast fraying courtesy. "T-Thank you," I managed to sputter.

"You're wel—" Another great _**BOOM**_ exploded, only closer this time, that is, right next to us. I was sent flying across the room with little tongues of fire licking at my backside as the residual heat of the explosion washed over me in waves. I chanced a glance over to Jack and noticed that he did not fare much better than I, and was nursing what must have been a burned finger.

"What's going on?!" I demanded furiously of the world at large, glaring around at the largely unaffected population, who all sat in their respective booths with much too smug looks on their complacent faces that just begged to be smacked. My hipbone pressed painfully into the ground and I winced and shifted a little, attempting to sit up. However, I, having suddenly become accident-prone in the past few days, could not move my arm without suffering agony of the worst sort. Fleetingly I considered the options: I had broken something; either that, or my arm was just acting up. Then again, I always overestimated prospective injuries. _It's probably just a bruise or something. _

One man gave the two of us a pointed look over his large nose and stern spectacles and then returned to his habitual reading of the bible. I frowned, propping myself up on my supposedly good arm and then realizing with a jolt of sudden pain that it sure as hell wasn't my 'good' arm anymore. Even as I collapsed to the ground, I continued my query. "What?" I scowled murderously at their self-satisfied smirks. "What do you all know that I don't?" I questioned crossly.

All I got in response were superior looks and upturned noses as they all turned back to doing whatever it is that they were doing. I gave them my fiercest glare to avoid looking as perplexed as I felt and wiggled my legs to check that _they_ at least were alright. I looked down at my arms. As expected, one was burned (it's not like I had thought the burn would miraculously go away because my other arm hurt; more than one arm can be hurt at the same time). The other held a mightily sprawling contusion whose ugly blue-gray color spread solidly from my elbow to my wrist. I had been right in the prediction that it was a bruise, but this was no regular bruise. It wrapped around my arm like a ghoulish, painful bandage. I poked it and hissed in pain. The same pain made itself known with a holler as I attempted to turn my arm to examine the other side. I could feel the cut on the other side, but I couldn't see it, so painstakingly, I twisted my arm, wincing as the Bruise loudly complained, until it came into my view. I peered at the jagged red line and deemed it unimportant. The shallow cut was already closing over anyway.

Though I did wonder how exactly I had gotten a cut from a linoleum floor, I didn't consider for too long, because soon, a shadow fell diagonally across the Bruise that I had been staring at so intently. I looked up to see Jack standing with a troubled look on his face. "You okay?" I asked him, attempting to stand without using my arms and failing rather miserably.

"I'll live," he said, glancing shortly at his burns. He looked down at me as I hid the Bruise out of view. "You?"

"Don't laugh at me," I warned.

"I won't laugh at you."

"You swear?"

"I swear on my honor as a pirate."

I rolled my eyes, but decided not to articulate the comment that was begging to be said about the contradiction. "Okay. I have a seriously nasty bruise that's keeping me from standing."

To his credit, he only snickered once, and sobered up quickly at my hostile glare. "I'm terribly sorry," he said, mock solemn.

I pouted childishly. "You should be," I said petulantly, showing him the Bruise in all its extensive black-and-blue glory.

He naturally averted his eyes. "If it makes you feel better, I _have_ seen worse," he offered casually.

I pretended to consider that. "Nope. Doesn't help."

"If it makes you feel better, I've _had_ worse," he revised.

I smiled. "Ah yes, the sadist in me hath been satiated," I gibed. A gnawing pain hit me in a place that had not been active for a long, long time. I looked down in wonder. "I'm… hungry?" The word seemed so unfamiliar, just like the feeling in my gut, but it was true. I was hungry. "Hungry." I rolled the word around on my tongue, liking the feel of it leaving my lips. I looked to Jack. "Help me up so we can go find something to eat," I ordered babyishly, holding my arms up out to him and ignoring the stabs of pain that followed.

He glanced at my outstretched arms and then at my face. "Isn't that a bit painful?"

I grimaced. "Just a little."

Without warning, he hoisted me up from about the waist, managing to get me up to a standing position without jarring my arms. "Thanks," I said with no small admiration. It takes skill to do something like that. "This way," I said with considerable cheer for someone who has just been condescended by all of her coworkers. Once we came in view of the small room that served as a kitchen, my spirits lifted. There was just something marvelous about food, even when one wasn't hungry enough to eat it. I steered him into a seat and washed my hands, rummaging through the large fridge and coming up with noodles, bean sprouts, cabbage, celery, carrots, garlic, and five-spice tofu. "Take your rings off and wash your hands," I commanded, pointing at the sink while precariously balancing my fresh ingredients in one hand while I grabbed two cutting boards. He gave me a look of intense reproach that I ignored, opting instead to begin slicing the tofu. "Why don't I hear running water?" I sang out. No response. I turned around with a frown that would probably strike fear in the hearts of little children. Jack was standing in front of the kitchen sink with a befuddled and slightly apprehensive look on his face. I grabbed the unwashed vegetables. Several quick strides brought me in front of him, where I turned on the shiny faucet and rinsed the vegetables, peering curiously into Jack's puzzled face until I finally turned off the water. At least his hands were ring-less. I faced him and pointed at the faucet. I turned it on and pantomimed washing my hands. He just stared uncomprehendingly. Finally, I lost patience and just grabbed his hands, shoving them into the stream of water. He jumped back with a yelp.

"It's just water, for Pete's sake!"

"I know it's water," he shot back defensively, washing his hands, finally. "I just didn't think water could—" He made several large hand gestures, flinging drops of water around, to convey his meaning and then finished it all off with, "—like that."

"What? Come out of the faucet?" It dawned on me. "Oh. I guess the faucet wasn't invented until… later, then. When was it invented anyway?"

He blinked at me and rocked back on his heels, newly clean hands clasped together in front of him.

I suddenly felt very thick. "Oh! Oh yes, I'm sorry, you wouldn't know because it wasn't around and that was the whole point of this conversation that I basically missed." I rounded on him. "I've let this conversation sidetrack me. Have you washed your hands?"

He said nothing directly to me, holding out his hands as proof and muttering things under his breath about the tyranny of overbearing female cooks as I rifled through the cabinets for various and sundry sauce ingredients.

With minimal pot banging and only one small burn, we finally managed to turn out one of my favorite meals, and by this time, I was ready to eat just about anything. I grabbed two pairs of chopsticks and put the kettle on for tea, sitting down at the small square table with a smile. I immediately dug a pencil out from my pocket and wrote a word in some other language on my paper napkin. I smiled at the familiar yet unfamiliar (if that makes sense) phrase and breathed in the fragrant steam of the meal.

Jack's eyes narrowed in something like a cross between suspicion and disbelief as he snatched the napkin from me, reading that one word that I had written but didn't know. "Another piece of the puzzle," he murmured almost inaudibly to himself, handing it back to me and blatantly ignoring my look of reproach. I practically inhaled the food, and when I finally looked up, it was to a ponderously staring Jack. The look on his face was far too thoughtful for my tastes, but before I could say a word, he looked away.


	6. Storytelling

**A/N: sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry...**

"Give me that! Hey!" It had to be the thousandth time he'd stolen my apron and it seemed to give him no end of pleasure. I suppose it was probably because it bothered me so much to be bereft of my dowdy apron, but that didn't stop me from voicing my displeasure. "Jack," I whined. "Give it back!"

He declared petulantly, as always, "Never!"

I was breathless from laughing at him and berating him and chasing him around all at the same time, but managed to catch up to him in my booth just to find that he had it up high above my head. I jumped halfheartedly to fetch it and then just gave up, standing with my hands on my hips. "Give me my apron."

"I will return this decidedly undesirable apron to you—I'm not sure why you want it back anyway—on one condition."

I had been through this before. Usually it was some menial task like 'you cook me something' or 'you serve me coffee for the rest of today' or even 'you find me something to read that's not religious.' I sighed. "And that would be?"

"You give me a kiss."

He had never said _that_ before.

I should've seen it coming. He was a renowned womanizer, and had managed to remain just friendly for what seemed an age. Surely having kept control of his natural swindling tendency was to be considered some sort of great accomplishment. I should've known that soon he would crack.

But I didn't. It hit me like a train. I gaped, opening and closing my mouth several times. "I don't even know what to say to that." After a moment of silence, I pecked him on the cheek. "There," I said awkwardly, taking the apron. "A kiss."

Only a brief moment of discomfort hung between us before we both laughed it off and sat. I waggled my finger at him. "I've picked up so many bad habits from you," I scolded. "Eating, drinking, sleeping."

He sent me a look.

I rolled my eyes. "Not that kind. Why I hardly have time to get anything done anymore! Not that I have anything to do, really, with all your paperwork done."

"If all the paperwork is done, then why am I still here? Not that I don't like you, but I will say it gets a tad bit dull around here."

"Well, I don't really know," I admitted reluctantly. "But I have speculated that something's gone glitch-y in the system. See, normally, you would be sent off to a general waiting area over yonder and I would be given another case."

"That's no fun anyway. When do you people get time to yourselves?"

"Usually there's a bit of down time between each case."

There was something hard about his expression, though his face remained carefully blank. "Ah, I see. So really—right now, just talking to me—is like working."

My eyes narrowed. "I guess you could say that." I bristled. "Why?"

"No reason."

The clock ticked noisily.

"I mean it's not like _working-_working. It's more like something that with another person could be considered working, but isn't really working because working is difficult. Do you know what I mean?" I babbled. "I guess it all depends really on what you'd call working, and I'd say working is anything that is actually like, _working_-working, which this isn't."

Some strangely muffled noises were coming from his side of the table, so I looked up at him to see if he was alright, not choking or anything, and then realized that he was laughing at me. "I'll stop talking now," I muttered, staring at the table.

"Yes, I know what you mean."

I looked up and smiled. "Oh good." My smile faded. "You know, sometimes I wonder about this place. About…" I lowered my voice. "God. Sure, the pronouns don't fit, but neither does 'God.'" I looked around shiftily, and then giggled nervously. "I can't believe I just said that."

He frowned. "You know, I can't help but agree with you. The burn and all? Don't get me wrong, I'm not that religious, but I _have_ read the bible. It doesn't seem quite fitting. Then again," he grinned, trying to lighten the mood. "What would I know? I'm a bit of a godless heathen, as it were."

"Do you miss it?" _Whoops, that wasn't non-sequitur of me; no, not at all._

"Miss what?"

I tried to be casual. "You know… living."

He shrugged. "I suppose."

"What about your ship?" I swallowed. "Your… lovers?"

"Why ask?"

"I'm… curious."

He flinched at the word. "No, I don't miss them."

_Who_, I wanted to ask. _You don't miss who? _Something about the way his eyes were suddenly hooded— guarded—told me he wasn't talking about his lovers anymore. I sighed gustily. "So I guess you wouldn't be willing to tell me about it?"

"About what?"

"Life."

"What do you want to know?"

I leaned in eagerly, elbows on the table, dropping any pretense of nonchalance."Everything."

He looked at me indecipherably. Only those with hard lives can shut off their eyes; after all, they say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Well, the curtains were drawn. Finally, he grinned. "Alright." He leaned in and took on the hushing command of a master storyteller. "When I was born, it was during a sudden squall…"

* * *

"Jack, you have to tell me what happened!"

The only problems I could see in Jack's storytelling were his tendency to grossly exaggerate and the more important fact that each session ended with a full-fledged cliffhanger.

He stopped and looked back at me briefly, not bothering to turn around and face me. "Maybe I will if you ask nicely."

It had been at least a week and he still had stories to tell. Though that was probably owed to the fact that most of them were likely made up, but I didn't particularly care, so long as they were told. It could happen!

Some of it, anyway.

"But I have! Asked nicely, that is. Please tell me?"

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Yes."

"Well there you go. I couldn't stand being the cause of your suffering. It would beleaguer my poor, shriveled heart."

"But you can't just leave it at that! Besides, what better do you have to do?"

"We could eat."

"But I want to know what happens," I protested, my voice teetering on the edge of a whine.

"Maybe I won't tell you at all."

"That would be cruel."

He smiled. "You're right. My poor shriveled heart—"

"Will stop beating forever if you don't tell me," I threatened.

"Death threats, now?" He looked pleased with himself. "I really am a bad influence."

"I'll stab it with a quill."

He covered the spot above his heart with his hands protectively and put on a wounded look. "You wouldn't."

"I would. And I'd have no qualms about it either."

"How blunt of you."

"In more ways than one."

"Fine," he conceded. "I will tell you the end of this story on one condition…"

Familiar words, indeed. I didn't like his too-casual expression, the way his look turned suddenly sly and calculating; I cut him off. "Never mind," I blurted. "Let's just eat."

He lifted his eyebrows in a graceful way that would have been considered aristocratic—in anyone else.

I crossed my arms defensively. "I'm hungrier than I previously thought," I said snootily, breezing past him. I ignored the smile that crept across his face and concentrated firmly on dinner. And eventually, I did manage to convince myself it was what I wanted. Uncertainty only plagued me at night, when there were no distractions but sleep, and the darkness cloaked me in troubling thoughts.

**A/N: ...sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry.**


	7. Synonymous with Wicked

**A/N: Hello friends. Things are really starting to heat up. Enjoy this new chapter, which is, by the by, one of my favorites.**

I awoke groggily to the roast-y toasty smell of coffee brewed how I liked it—not too light, not too dark—and the sound of quiet footsteps. I was instantly awake, but only a subtle swish of the curtain, a book, and the waiting coffee cup disclosed to me that someone had been in my humble abode.

I blinked away the last traces of another dream. This time I had been stuck outside the grocery store and Jack—why was I dreaming about him, dang it—had kept going on to me about a key. I had the sense that he was speaking in another language, but mostly it was just strange that I had dreamt of him at all. _Can't control what I dream, though, can I?_ In an instant all images of the dream had evaporated into thin air and all I could remember was a hazy impression of distress and confusion. I shook my head and took a sip of the coffee to clear my mind.

I picked up the book curiously, gazing at the black leather binding. There had once been letters there; echoes of gold script still remained, imprinted on the surface, but it had long since faded away from immediate recognition. I opened to the first page where a note laid waiting for me in lazy sprawling handwriting.

_Good morning. I would have provided you with a fresh baked scone with clotted cream and jam or marmalade and whatever else you put on scones, but I did not have the time, so I hope coffee will do. Come see me—I am in the kitchen—but before you do, take a look at the book if you will._

I looked curiously to the book, examining the first page. My eyebrows lifted. "Why, this is Genesis! Why'd you give me a bible, Jack? I already have one," I murmured. I turned to the next page in his bible to find that it was flooded with Jack's spidery scrawl. My eyebrows lifted further and I turned to the note once more.

_The notes you see on the sides are my conclusions and my observations. I thought perhaps you might be interested. Don't try to read it all at once, my dear; you'll only get a headache. See you in the kitchen._

_Jack_

I set the book down for a later time, wrapping my hands around the coffee mug and shuffling to the kitchen.

"Jack?" I said fuzzily when I got there.

"You found my note then?" Without waiting for me to answer, he rubbed his hands together and said, "Excellent. Sit."

Like a sheep, I obeyed and watched in bewilderment as he placed two steaming bowls in front of me—to my left, white rice, to my right, liquid whose surface swirled like cumulus clouds. He arranged a small dish of soy sauce and a small plateful of dried seaweed around the two main dishes and poured me a cup of green tea, similarly organizing his side of the table. I looked at him in befuddlement. "Jack, wha—"

"Shh, just relax. Does this remind you of anything?"

I opened my mouth to retort that I had no memories, but he beat me to it. "Just open your mind and close your eyes. Let your hands guide you. Have some miso. Or some nori."

Eyes closed, I reached instantly for the seaweed—nori, I supposed—and dipped it into where I remembered the soy sauce to be. I faltered.

"Go on," he encouraged.

I placed a ball of hot rice on the dripping nori and closed the wrap, placing it in my mouth without thinking. The plain blend of flavors was like a form of divinity. Soft, cloud-like rice was chewy, sweet in its simplicity, and starchy in my mouth as pockets of fragrant steam released in small bursts. The soy-sauce coated nori was like a delicate crisp of the ocean, salty and green, almost dissolving on my tongue. I swallowed slowly and opened my eyes, questioning. "Jack?"

His eyes were eager, over bright. "Is any of this familiar?" he asked slowly, lingering on the final word and letting it hang in the air like the fragile threads of a spider's web.

I blinked. "Familiar," I considered, rolling the word about in my mouth, tasting it. "Familiar." Sure, I'd heard the word used before, but I had never really applied it to myself. "It's familiar to my hands and mouth…" I replied hesitantly. "But not to my mind."

He sighed and sat back. "It's something, at least. That's all I was hoping for, and all I need to know." He began to eat, and I realized with a jolt that he had just been watching me that whole time. "I'm going to run some words by you and just tell me the first things that come to mind." He took a huge bite of rice, and swallowed, leaning his elbows on the table. "Hikari."

"Hiking."

He made a face that just about said, _So much for that_. "Suki."

"Cats," I said instantly.

He gave me a speculative look.

"I knew a cat named Suki once," I explained apologetically. My own words echoed through my head: _I knew a cat—_ "Oh my God!" I jumped up and nearly screamed in excitement. "I knew a cat name Suki once!" I exclaimed in wonder. It came onto me in a heady rush of images and sounds. "Suki-chan! Such a personality, she had; you would never believe it! The first time we met, she bit me in the leg and I still have the scar." I pointed to a jagged little line on my calf that I'd forgotten. "But after that we were like best friends."

"Go on!" he prompted, just as excited as I was.

I took a deep breath and opened my mouth—my shoulders slumped. "To where? I don't remember anything else."

His face immediately fell; he was disappointed for me, how touching! But he tried to brace me. "We'll keep trying. For now let us undertake a new one. Okaasan."

"Mother," I said instantly. A fuzzy figure moved just outside my range of memory, a blur just outside my mind's eye; a name was lingering just on the tip of my tongue—

It vanished.

He didn't seem to notice that I had been about to speak as he tucked in. "Ah, now we're really getting somewhere." His lips curled into a smile. "That's enough for now. Eat your miso."

* * *

Suki.

Who would have thought that my first memory would be of a cat who wasn't even mine? I said the feline's name over and over to myself, clutching it in my mind like a security blanket. See, I had started to wonder if I had ever lived on earth at all, so having memories of a tabby cat flying through my mind was like an opiate. I was deliriously happy with my memories of a recalcitrant hellion, a pussy with fur-flying, hair-raising tendencies, constantly howling and yowling for any number of things. She could go from mortal enemy to loveable pet in a moment, and as I recalled, this was precisely why I liked her, seeing as my personality swung similarly.

Idle, I flipped through Jack's bible, chuckling and gasping at the comments alternatively. I found '_Christianity is the opiate of the masses,'_ scrawled in one corner. My mouth dropped open. Sure, people often said that it was merely a misquotation of Karl Marx. But perhaps it wasn't that so much as Marx's version was a misquotation of Jack Sparrow! I shook my head in wonder, rolled my eyes at the comment and continued on to the next page, where an entire lesson was violently scribbled out.

"Hey!" Jack had still not come up with a temporary name for me, so usually he just said 'hey you' or what he said now, a simple 'hey.' He grabbed my hand and dragged me in the direction of the Great Waiting Room.

"Where are we going?!" So I didn't really mind being scooped up, but I complained for appearance's sake.

"I want you to meet someone."

* * *

"Meet my newest acquaintance," Jack said ambiguously, finally moving out of the way so I could see— 

My eyebrows rose in incredulity. "Jezebel?"

The woman in front of me, obviously jaded, had certainly changed with the times, but her distinctive facial features (high cheekbones, cat-green eyes, full lips and a nose bordering on perfection) clued me into the fact that this was indeed the same woman that I had met so long ago during my first few hours on the job.

"The one and only," she drawled, lighting up a cigarette and placing her sunglasses atop her head, the definition of suave and sexy.

I suddenly felt very, very frumpy.

Despite her gruesome death, in the afterlife she had evidently been restored to her former glory. A long string of pearls wrapped twice around her neck and hung loosely between her breasts and down to her navel, where a jewel glimmered in a green similar to the color of her eyes. Thin stiletto heels capped her long, slender legs, which were clad in sexy black fishnet stockings. Her hair was a length of glossy, fat curls that spilled sumptuously out across her practically bare shoulders.

_No wonder Jack instantly sought her out,_ I thought.

Jack grinned. "You know each other?"

"Know each other? Gosh, I think she was my first case." I was certain that I was being eaten alive by my own envy. "I'm still recovering," I quipped, thinking grimly, _When in doubt, be funny._

"As am I," she purred.

_Is it just me, or did Jack just swallow rather loudly?_ I wondered somewhat jealously. Give me a break, she was wearing hardly anything, and of course she was much more attractive to begin with, so needless to say, I was feeling somewhat depressed. I still had the presence of mind to notice that Jezebel seemed to be bracing herself for something; I wasn't sure what. _Does she expect me to explode at her or something?_ _Why_ _does everyone have such a low opinion of me to think that some petty jealously would cause me to—_

_**BOOM!**_

_I_ didn't explode, but something else certainly did.

These _**BOOMS**_ were certainly becoming familiar. "What _is_ that?" I cried in irritation.

"You don't know?" Jezebel's smile was the definition of smug. I wanted to smack that stupid over confident smile off her perfect goddamned face and then rip her to shreds and feed the little pieces to the dogs, though I supposed we didn't really have dogs, but it was the thought that counted anyway—

But I needed information. I gritted my teeth in frustration and forced myself to be calm. "No," I said simply, tucking my emotions away.

"Well," she said slowly, lingering over the ls and somehow making them sexy while simultaneously making it seem as if Jack had asked the question, not me. Her lips curled into a devious smile.

It took a concerted effort to keep my left eye from twitching.

"Someone has been attacking us from outside. Not sure who. But I'm sure they'll be…" She took Jack's hand and massaged it. "Friendly."

I made no attempt to be subtle. "Excuse me while I gag," I said bluntly. "I've never had the stomach to watch the nauseating act of seduction while it happens, so if you'll spare me that pain and perhaps explain why anyone in their right mind would be attacking purgatory, that would be nice."

She shrugged, sending Jack a sidelong glance that promised later reward. "As you wish. The explosions seem to occur every three or four hours at least. They're certainly taking their time, whoever they are."

She took a puff from her cigarette, blowing it in my face. I barely suppressed a cough. "I think it's one of the holy forces, probably that of evil, though it depends entirely on what your definition is. I believe that outside these very walls, a holy war between the two divine entities is taking place."

"Two divine entities?"

"Yes."

"Who?" I almost didn't want to hear the answer that I knew was coming.

"God, and the Devil."

**A/N: Well?? What do we think of Jezebel?**


	8. A Great Many Things Happen

**A/N: I'm baaa-aack!! But I'm worn to the bone by school, so don't expect anything good. Enjoy. Please review. Now I'm going to take a long, long nap.**

The whole day had almost passed, and in light of my newfound memory of Suki, I had entirely forgotten that Jack never actually told me the end to the story that I'd been so fussed about. All day long I'd been so caught up in my one real memory that I'd drawn doodles of Suki and stared at my scar even through meals.

With one last scribble, I put the memory aside. "So Jack…"

He raised his eyebrows. "Done drawing?"

We were sitting in my booth, the both of us splayed out in an attempt to get comfortable (then again, how comfortable can one ever be in a diner with blatantly synthetic booths and off key fifties music?)

I blushed and then wondered promptly when I'd started blushing. "Yes." I resumed my initial interrogation. "You realize, you never finished the story," I finally reminded him. "Can you please finish the story?" I realized sourly that I was begging.

He was obviously pleased that I was begging. "Oh, yes that's right." He grinned like he knew something that I didn't, and considering what I knew of him, he probably _did_ know something that I didn't. "Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline your request."

I scowled. "Again?"

"Yes, again."

"But I want to know how it ends."

"Oh fine." He gave over much too easily, so I tapped my foot, counting in my head, _1, 2, 3, 4, 5, _in anticipation for the catch. He opened his mouth as if on cue. "I will tell you the ending of the story on one condition."

I managed to keep my mouth shut this time, despite the chill his familiar wording sent down my spine. I just raised my eyebrows in an attempt at looking aristocratic.

"You give me a kiss."

Now it was the second time he'd said it. The only thing that did not plague me as it had the first time, was the shock. But the uncertainty, the questioning was all there, just as before. My eyes flicked up to him and then down to the table as images of the sly, seductive Jezebel struck like strident bells in my mind. "You already know that I don't know what to say to that."

"Then say yes," he lured, taking my hand in his and brushing it temptingly with his lips. Jealousy for Jezebel evaporated; _after all, I am the one who is here with Jack and she is the one who is not, _my treacherous mind whispered cunningly, coaxing my frantic common sense.

The tickle of his moustache was a pleasant sensation against my skin, but I felt it coldly, my mind separated from my body. All I could think of was that he was much too handsome for his own good—rather _my _owngood. I just looked at him for a moment, trying to think of a valid reason to say no. There were plenty, lurking just outside my range of thought, collecting enticingly on the tip of my tongue…

But goose witted and unable to think, I couldn't grasp a single one, and perhaps I didn't _want_ to grasp one. So instead, I did the natural thing.

I complied.

But I was not the one to kiss him, no. He was the one to kiss me, and to be sure, there is a difference. I cannot say that fireworks exploded overhead, or that the stars burst into oblivion, or that his kiss was a signal for something greater in the reeling heavens.

But I can say that it was like a brief taste of the heady warmth of an elixir, the kind that burns on the way down and loosens one's muscles to languid languor and dislodges the rigid rational mind from its place. It was a short, sweet snippet of potent beauty, clouding the callous corners of a cold world.

Again, imagination flowered in my brain—swelling, swooping, romantic images of the cold diner transformed to a place awash in beauty flooded my mind, and I remembered that I had once dreamed of making my place of work a thoughtful place where the line between memory and imagination blurred into something greater than the parts. A fuzzy haze of colors and softened lines overtook my vision as the right side of the brain prevailed. It was right in every sense of the word—both in what side of my brain was working and in its fit to my mindset.

In other words, I had never felt so open to and right with the world. I felt utterly complete.

And as a result, I gave only a brief thought to consequences as I flicked off the light. That thought was this: _Consequences be damned._ After all, it was too late already; in purgatory, even a kiss was a heinous crime. I did not bat an eyelash or once feel regret as I fumbled with his clothes in the heady, swirling darkness. All that mattered in that moment was being joined, finally, with the man I had come to love.

* * *

We awoke to the jarring beam of an LED flashlight. Outside of the burning circle of artificial light, it was pitch black. The morning was as dark as the night had been; I figured it around 4:00 in the A.M. earth time. And I knew in that one dreadful moment that they had come to dole out punishment.

Stern martinets in traitorous green and tan wrenched us apart and all of their words blended together in my ears. I couldn't register anything but the angry, violent cadences of harsh voices grating on my ears and the stomp of boots. I may have cried out; I am not sure, but one thing I knew was that I had to hold on, I had to keep his hand in mine or something terrible would happen; the earth would split into two, or the heavens would come crashing down on us, or the world would be dissolved in fire, like in that book in the bible, Revelations. I briefly, detachedly wondered what Jack had written about it in his copy.

The floor was awash in blood, a foul oil slick of slimy red, but I barely had the presence of mind to wonder whose it was, and how dead people could bleed. I wondered until I saw the body of a soldier. The deep redness seeped and oozed thick like velvet from a hole in his chest, but I didn't pity him. He had tried to take Jack away. He got what he deserved.

But the others didn't get what they deserved. We only had so many bullets to stop them. They pulled us like taffy and pulled and pulled _and_ _humans aren't meant to be pulled like taffy_. We held onto each other for as long as we could until the combined, duplicitous sweat of our palms betrayed us and left us for dead.

Jack was gone. They had taken him and left me behind, sitting numbly beside a pool of blood. It did not even require any thought on my part; I had to follow them, and did, out of the diner and into the darkness until a fortress of gray loomed above.

In retrospect, I suppose it wasn't really gray, but it felt gray, as gray as any building had ever felt to me, especially when the double doors slammed shut on my face. By cover of night, I crept past bleak scenes of sleeping war camps and back to the diner.

I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have, for when I woke up, I was in my booth, and the only sign that anything had happened was a tinge of crimson on the floor. The body had long since been toted away and some poor sod had probably attempted to clean the floor. I hoped they knew that it would be stained forever to serve as reminder of the day.

I armed myself with all I had. I couldn't think, I couldn't see, I couldn't hear, but I still felt, and knew without considering that I had to save him. I took his bible with me; tucked it in my apron pocket. I took a shot of straight black coffee and set forth, blind into a new world of dangerous uncertainties, desensitized by the sheer high priority of my own mission.

Before I could get past the door, however, a long, slender hand had wrapped around my upper arm like the chilled gauntlet of death. I turned sharply to be faced with the smooth porcelain face of Jezebel, pulled taut with stress.

Her green eyes snapped furiously. "What do you think you're doing?" she hissed. "If the war doesn't kill you, the world certainly will."

Emotionless, I said flatly, "They took Jack." I peeled her hand away from my skin. "I have to do something."

She stared at me, recognition and awareness dawning in the green pupils of her eyes. "Fool," she breathed quietly. "You've fallen in love with him, haven't you?" She let her breath out in a long, protracted hiss like a sword slowly being unsheathed. "Idiot girl. Don't you know he will just leave you?"

I hardened my resolve. "I don't feel anything but responsibility for him. I know as well as any his reputation. Regardless, I must go for the sake of my own conscience, if nothing else." I turned coldly to go.

"Wait," Jezebel stalled. She reached behind her head, and with a snap, a gold chain appeared beside her pearls. It slithered with the hiss and clink of metal into her hand. "Take this."

"What is it?" I asked, instantly suspicious.

"We call it a cha-cha." I raised my eyebrows humorlessly. "A charisma charm," she clarified. "If you wear it, it makes you irresistible, no matter who else is in the room." She dropped it into my hand.

I peered into her face for resentment or ill intents of revenge, but found nothing of the sort, only a steady, grave sincerity. "Thank you," I said, unsure of what to think as I glanced at the simple chain.

"Good luck."

"Thanks."

Her lips curled into a wan smile as I turned to leave. "You're gonna need it." She saluted me, and I returned the gesture quickly and slipped the charisma charm into the innermost pocket on my person, a hidden one inside my shirt.

The instant I came out into the sunlight, I knew that my white uniform would stand out against the bloodied dusty uniforms of the attacking force. Dropping to the red dust of the ground, I rolled about and mussed everything from my hair to my feet.

I kicked off my white heels and set off barefoot, mentally constructing a new identity to represent—a refugee who was looking for her husband would do nicely, I finally decided.

The sky exploded into a bloody haze of red and orange and clods of dirt went streaming like dulled comets above. Blackened bits of debris rained down on my head, speckling my shoulders with flakes of what looked remarkably like charred toast. A flurry of dusty gray ash settled into my hair and clothes.

I pulled out the charisma charm, laying it in my hand, where I noticed that there was dirt under my fingernails and red dust in the sweaty crevices of my hands. I grimaced and fastened the charm around my neck; I needed all the charisma I could get.

It instantly vanished from sight, and the only evidence that it remained at all was the tinny chill of metal against my collarbones. I crouched along the ground, inching forward on my elbows in an attempt to avoid direct contact with the battle. This attempt, however, left my still healing arms at a disadvantage. My face twisted into a grimace of pain each inch I covered until finally I stood to give my various wounds respite.

More the fool, I.

"Hey! You! Stop right where you are!"

_Fight or flight?_

I rolled my eyes at my own folly. _That's no contest._

I set off at a run, my blood pounding in my ears, praying fervently that I could outrun whoever was coming after me.

Unfortunately, I have always been a slow runner.

A young soldier grabbed me by the arm and then started in utter surprise. "It's a girl!"

I opened my mouth with a snide comment about congratulations of childbirth being unfitting for a battlefield, but what came out somehow went unchecked by my brain. "What were you expecting, general?" I purred. The charm thrummed against my skin, warming. "An enemy tank?" _Whoa. Hold up. Did I just flirt?_

"I'm not a general miss," he said shyly, blushing a girlish shade of pink.

I opened my mouth to say rudely, _as well it should be,_ but the charm hummed and I said, "Not yet you aren't." The charm buzzed again, and my lips curled into the unfamiliar smile of a coquette. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Private Harting, miss," he said rigidly.

His companion finally jogged up to us. "What's all this? A woman in a battlefield?!"

The charm would not permit me to say what was begging to be said—that there was a chauvinistic pig in our midst that would do better roasted with an apple in its mouth than in a war. Instead, I strayed from any initial plans and lied smoothly, "I was just looking for my brother… David." The private and his superior glanced at each other uneasily. "Do you know him?"

Private Harting muttered almost inaudibly, "Private Lawson had a sister?" A muffled thump and yelp told me that the older man had kicked him.

"Miss Lawson?" the older put forth tentatively.

"Yes?" I couldn't believe my good fortune. _Thank god there's a David in the army!_

"I'm afraid that David has passed," he said slowly and delicately. _Whoops; thank god there WAS a David in the army. Sorry David._

I affected shock while the charm vibrated. Tears sprung to my eyes rather suddenly and without any thought on my part. "Oh," I murmured pitifully.

"We are deeply sorry for your loss, miss. Private Lawson was a good man and a good soldier."

"Damn fine card player too," the younger man added. It earned him a surreptitious kick from his elder. He cleared his throat. "Virtuous man," he amended gravely.

"Whatever shall I tell mother?" I improvised, wringing my hands.

The two nodded sympathetically, but then froze. "Mrs. Lawson has passed on… hasn't she?" the private asked carefully.

_Whoops. _"Oh yes," I said fervently. "I must go to her gravesite with the news." The charm hummed—I burst spontaneously into real life tears and muscles not my own buckled, sending me sinking to my knees. The charm, if nothing else, had certainly made me into quite the convincing actress. The two soldiers instantly kneeled beside me, concern radiating from their faces.

"Are you quite alright, miss?"

"Let me help you up, miss."

Each spoke simultaneously, glared at the other and then looked to me. If my mission was not so grave, I would have laughed—I felt like I had just jumped unexpectedly into an Austen novel.

"I'll manage on my own, thanks," I said dryly, standing. The charm began to hum in displeasure and I put my hand on it as a reflex, mentally hushing it by thinking strongly of Jack. It quieted. "Thank you, gentlemen. I must mourn now." They stared at me as if I was an apparition, but I ignored this strange behavior and turned to go, vanishing gratefully into the dust and out of earshot.

I sighed in relief. "Good god," I muttered, unclasping the charisma charm and letting it pool in my palm. I shook my head placed it once more around my neck as a precaution. "Let's hope _that _doesn't happen aga—"

I couldn't finish my thought for fear of choking on the hand that was suddenly covering my mouth, suffocating me. I flailed rather uselessly about, like a fish out of water, making muffled noises of surprise as my arms were bound to my sides. The last thing I knew was a thump and a sickening jerk of pain, then a swirling blanket of inky black to cover my vision.

**A/N: Well?? Moving too fast relationship-wise? PLEASE COMMENT I'M AT MY LAST STRAW HERE!! All this work is killing me. And I have a cold. Of course at the moment that means I have a migraine and no medicine to take for it... :( **

**Okay, I'll shut up now.**

**Please review! Feedback is loved and appreciated!!**


	9. Over

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

I awoke to a hazy impression of white on white on white, and then an impression of nauseating tenderness in my head. When I actually woke up and looked around, I realized that both of these impressions were correct. I was surrounded by six plush white squares that came together to form the room I was in. No windows. No doors. No bars. No holes.

Nothing.

Not even a sofa. Or a wall painting. Briefly I thought to myself dimly that a skylight would do nicely with the (nonexistent) décor.

Even my clothes had been changed to shocking white during my unconscious state. I just barely had the presence of mind to be indignant about the last, for my mind was occupied with the frantic search to identify a way out.

I scrabbled at the seams of the walls, my heart thumping in my ears as the veins in my head pulsed vilely. I was a rodent in a trap, unable to find a way out, unable to ever escape. The blinding white walls seemed to close in with each passing second. I didn't have the time or control to bottle the scream that clawed its painful way up my throat. A dry sob heaved my chest and I whimpered pathetically, scratching the wall.

"If these walls were glass, they'd have shattered."

I froze; I knew the casual voice; my head lifted and hope swelled in me. "Jack?"

"The one and only," he said. I was too indisposed to contradict there being one Jack in the entire world.

I broke down and dissolved, weeping. "I thought—" I choked on my words, my tears, and my embarrassment.

"Shh. It's alright."

I took a deep shuddering breath. "You must think I'm an awful sissy."

He laughed. "Yes, but I thought that already and deemed it part of your inadvertent charm. How did you get in here?"

"I tried to save you."

He sighed gustily. "I could've told you that wouldn't work," he teased gently.

I managed to laugh somewhat tearfully. "I know," I said, an inch away from sobbing. "I just…" I fell silent, unable to explain my unwonted display of foolish heroics. Instead, I sighed. "What now?"

"Well, I suppose we wait for an ultimatum from the 'powers that be,' or we find a way out." He stopped and I could picture him holding up his index fingers. "Or both."

"There _is_ no way out." Far from my feeling of completion the night before, I now felt the cynical, analytical mentality I had kept for so long slip back in, a shadow ever-looming in the forefront of my mind.

"My dear, there is _always_ a way out. After all, there had to be a way _in_ for us to be _in_, and therefore there must also be a way _out_, since we otherwise could not possibly have ended up so very undeniably and completely _in_, savvy?"

"That does absolutely nothing to comfort me."

"Good. You see, it was meant to confound you."

"What?"

"Nothing, love."

My rationality was dying. Not to mention my mind and my optimism. "I've already told you not to call me that," I said coldly, wanting to cry.

He laughed. "Back to that, are we? Well, just don't forget that the endearment _is_ technically true."

I stiffened. What could I possibly say to that? My breath oozed out of me in a long, disappointed hiss. "Sorry. I'm just… worried."

"Don't be. We're both dead already, so what can they really do to us?" He obviously didn't believe what he was saying. It was a pretty lie for my benefit, and one that I didn't appreciate at the time.

"Plenty of things," I said darkly.

A voice that I recognized as the one I had thought was God up until that point—I finally decisively knew that it could not be the voice of the tender, forgiving God that I loved—boomed into both rooms. "Both of you. You have a choice. If you do not take it, you will be sent immediately to the fires of Hell for perpetual agony. I offer you an escape from eternal torment."

I was too tired to deal with an unseen demon. "Show yourself," I demanded, my voice sharp like the hiss of a blade slicing thin air. "I will not negotiate with an invisible entity."

"Fine."

The cushioned wall between Jack's room and mine vanished and there stood the figure that I no longer could name in good conscience a god.

"What choice?" I asked, my voice tinged with instant suspicion and dripping with venom.

"I present you with a riddle. If you solve it, you both are free."

We glanced at each other. "We choose the riddle," Jack said, and I nodded vigorously.

"Very well," he said ominously. "Here are your clues. The key to flight is the unknown. The unknown is that which was known. Flight is that which was lost. The riddler puts to you, then, a task. This task is to gain the unknown according to these clues. You have until dawn." A stone tablet and an hourglass dramatically materialized before us. The stone tablet was engraved with the riddle (a lucky thing, since neither of us could have written it down, and my memory was certainly not that good.) With that, he—or rather _it—_vanished.

"Rather dramatic, don't you think?" Jack commented.

"Quite. And I don't think riddler is a word." I started to pace. "Well, let's read it through once more." I picked up the tablet and nearly fell over, outbalanced. "The key to flight is the unknown."

"That's makes sense to some degree."

"The unknown is that which was known."

"That makes no sense at all."

"Flight is that which was lost." I said it more like a question than a statement.

He attempted to be positive. "It's less confusing than the one before it at any rate."

"Your task is to gain flight in accordance with the clues above."

Jack slapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Well. In other words… Flight is what was previously known, and what was previously known was lost."

A moment of silence hung in the air.

"Was that helpful?" I asked somewhat dubiously.

He grimaced. "Not at all."

"Okay, let's see. What does flight represent in classic literature?"

He rolled his eyes. "Plenty of things. Cowardice, for starters."

"Let's see… cowardice is the key to the unknown. The unknown is that which was previously known. Cowardice is that which was lost." I made a face. "That doesn't work. I'm just as afraid of everything as I was before."

"Flight sometimes represents death."

"Okay. Death is the key to the unknown."

"Morbid, but true."

"The unknown is that which was previously known. Death is that which was lost."

Jack fell back casually, but with more violence than grace. The cushions hissed and screamed until finally they cushioned the line of his body. He put his hands behind his head. "So in this quaint, happy little version, the all powerful one is essentially asking us to kill ourselves."

I shook my head. "I don't think death is it. After all, we're living death right now, so it can't be unknown. And we didn't know death before, so the unknown is not previously known. It must be something else." The sand in the hourglass shifted noisily.

It shifted noisily for some time, the both of us racking our minds until—

"Freedom!" Jack burst out.

I was lethargic from sitting for so long. My reaction time had slowed to that of a very thick slug who wouldn't know the difference between salt and pepper even if they were poured in mass quantities upon it. "What?"

"Freedom is the key to the unknown and freedom is what was lost too!" he exclaimed.

I blinked. "Then what's the unknown?"

"I have no idea."

We lapsed once more into baffled silence. "The unknown is that which was known," I murmured.

Jack began to rearrange the words. "What was known is now unknown. The known is now not so. The known is now beyond knowing." I was utterly confused, but continued to listen in the hope that an idea would jump out of my headache like Athena, fully clothed with spear in hand and helmet on head. "The unknown is known by those who live in the past. The past is unknown. History is unknown, but was known when it happened."

"Jack!" I screamed, bolting to my feet. "You're a genius!"

"Of course I am. What makes you say something so obvious?"

"Memory!" I shouted. "Memory is the unknown. Memory is that which was known. Jack, it all fits! The key to freedom is memory. My memory. My _identity_. The unknown is that which was known. Memory is that which was known." Hope rose within me.

Jack faced me and took my hands in his. "Freedom is that which was lost."

"I just need my identity!" I felt like screaming in excitement.

His eyes were solemn and his face utterly grave. "Now think. Who are you?"

The last grain of sand fell.

* * *

"Now show me the unknown, which you have gained, or you're both off to eternal torment, for I am God, all powerful!" The being had appeared the moment the last grain of sand touched the piece of glass at the bottom.

I racked my mind for a name—anything—a nickname, a surname, a first name, a middle name; anything to appease the being before me. My heart seemed to freeze in brief and painful immobility, pressing, contracting, but unable to move. Jack's fingers curled around mine and he gave me a little squeeze. It was like a kickstart to my blood, and instantly my mind began to clear. "I'm more than willing to fulfill your request," I started. My eyes finally flicked up and I kept them on the being, steady and sharp as I leveled my gaze. "Lucifer."

The devil flinched away as if I had struck it—and I suppose in some respects, I did. I'd hit the nail on the head. Power swelled within me with every breath of air. "My name is Momoko Kusakawa," I said, stepping forward as it writhed and hissed, shrinking away from me. My voice was a quiet metallic hiss, not carrying beyond the ears of the three of us. "And you will no longer control me, demon."

"Can you blame me?" The demon's voice was quietly corrosive. "Can you honestly say you would not have done the same if given a chance? Who _wouldn't_ jump at the chance to have the power of a God?"

"_She_wouldn't have," Jack said offhandedly, pointing.

"Lucifer. Fallen angel," I mused thoughtfully. "I do not think it is power that we all want, so much as… infinite redemption. Always having the option of forgiveness. That's why we all like the story of the prodigal son."

Lucifer was silent and unreadable.

"Perhaps," I said tentatively, "_You_ are the prodigal son. But you just don't know it yet."

The room surged with white light and the devil screamed a god awful scream like nails down a chalkboard.

"You!" it shrieked, curling up in pain.

The light did not speak. It could not. But a sense of God's awe inspiring power and complete dominion washed over the three of us. All at once I wished to laugh, cry, howl—anything! I kneeled down.

The demon's long, hissing screech was like daggers scraping my eardrums. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

The world went black.

* * *

"So, it's all over, then."

"It is." He smiled. No, it was more of a smirk. "Momoko." He made the syllables of my lost name sing.

"You never told me the end of that story."

"They all lived happily ever after," he teased. Jack swept me off my feet, literally. I laughed in surprise. It was over. Relief flooded me. My life and identity were mine again. And I was his.

I smiled. "Don't be boring. Surely we can think of something better to do than go happily ever after-ing."

He kissed me. "Your wish is my command, my lady."

And we lived happily ever after. Sort of.

**A/N: I'm sorry. This is way out of line. I don't even know how I dare return to this after an almost year long hiatus. I am ashamed of my conduct and I apologize for this shoddy ending. I'm so sorry! I hadn't even meant to finish this. I got to a point and did not know how to end it. So here I am, a year later, babbling to a group of people that I have probably incensed. I am truly sorry and I hope that you all will forgive me. **

**Thank you for reading. I am sorry about the wait. If it will make you feel better, flame me. I know I deserve it. I am more of a reader than a writer, and as a reader, I know I would be throwing cabbage at myself at this point. In fact, if it makes anyone feel better about the situation, I practically am throwing cabbage at myself (or at least kicking myself.)**

**Thank you for your kind words of encouragement and your endurance in the face of my pigheadedness. I owe you all.**

**With love and apologies,**

**-music nerd**


End file.
